


Clammy Hands

by Magiclynx



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magiclynx/pseuds/Magiclynx
Summary: When Obama is almost drained by Dracula in an alley, a desire sparks in Dracula, and not the one you're expecting.





	Clammy Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been planning for a while now. Clammy Hands my not be the final title and I may even edit this chapter after posting. Sorry it's short, the next chapter will be out SUPER soon since I'm writing it now.
> 
> EDIT: I redid the whole chapter, I changed what I had in mind for the plot and now this will be much funnier. You're welcome. Also, more is on the way!

It was a chilly december night when Barack Obama left the white house through a concealed door in the west wing. He’d noticed it a week before while exploring the capital, it had been badly painted over and hidden behind a curtain. All it took was a key to scrape some paint off, and some elbow grease to get the damn thing open, and he was out.

The cold air surrounded him, and nipped at his exposed wrists and face. He let out a sigh, watching as it turned to fog and drifted off in the wind. He turned around and closed the door almost all the way, leaving just an inch for him to slide back through once it was time to sneak back in. Then he tightened his scarf around his mouth, pulled his hat down and began to set out.

It’d been some time since he’d gone anywhere unaccompanied by secret service members and guards of all sorts, and despite knowing the risk it put him in, he missed the independence and freedom he’d had as governor. The issue was he didn’t know where he was headed. He’d been in office for almost year and doubted he could go anywhere without being recognized, and not only that, but since it was so late there were hardly any places open except bars and 24 hour fast food chains.

Despite this, he headed out into the city. He was determined to do at least _something_ with his first glimpse of freedom since last january. As much as being the president was wonderful, it was a stressful job and he missed the little things.

He walked a little further, past some side streets and through an alley to avoid a group of loud drunk people exiting a bar. He didn’t want to get seen on his very first try sneaking out, how stupid would that be? He popped out in front of a 24 hour IHOP and some other closed establishments. The road was dark and the street lights were dim, and would flicker every so often. Regardless of the lighting and the worrying emptiness of the city, Barack wasn’t nervous, having grown up in Chicago, he’d encountered and learned how to deal with much worse than some shady D.C. streets.

He rounded a corner, and kept walking. Even if he didn’t know where he was going, just being out was better than he could’ve imagined. He took in the different places still open, watched as a handful of people left a bar laughing and joking, watched a nice old man close up his diner, and even saw a couple out on a late night date. He passed a movie theater he’d have to make a note of for later, and kept going until his feet were tired.

Barack felt pretty good about his secret escapade, although that made it sound much more exciting than it really was. But after walking around in the cold and light snowfall, he realized he wasn’t quite sure where he was. It was a rookie mistake to sneak out and subsequently get lost, and he sighed, and tried to retrace his steps. He turned around and tried to take the streets he was just on, but as the night grew later, more and more businesses he’d remembered as open, were dark and easy to miss when only the hum of lamps posts cast circles of illumination on the cracked asphalt.

After wandering around for a while, he started to see places he remembered, and a couple of street names he recognized. He was close the the White House, but he was still turned around. Just a little bit more and he’d be there. He picked up his pace, walking down a side street with purpose, sticking to the well lit portion of the sidewalk. He was so busy thinking about how to get home he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until he’d been grabbed and pulled into the nearest alley.

His head slammed against the brown bricks of the building behind him and it knocked the wind out of him in a large cloud of fog. He let out a groan as his head pounded and the whole world spun for a few seconds. He pushed against his attacker, but it was no use, he was just too strong. His vision started to come back right as he felt his scarf being pushed down and something cold and firm pressed against his neck. The surprise of this brought him back to his senses as he headbutted the assailant before he could do anything worse.

“Ow, vhat the fuck?” said the man, as he pulled back, now coming into view. He wore a grey trench coat and had sleek black  hair. The alley was too shadowed to make out much, but the glowing red eyes and long fangs were hard to miss even in this decrepit corner of Washington D.C.

Barack used this split second of distraction to shove the man back a few paces but before he could say anything, the man was talking.

“Oh my god, you’re the Prethident. I’m tho thorry, I didn’t realithe,” he said, backing up further and raising his hands in apology. His lisp was almost comical, and Barack might have laughed if he wasn’t still scared for his life.

“Who- Who the hell are you?” Barack said, taking a step forward and looking around.

“That’th not important. I mutht go, I promithe I von’t bother you ever again,” and in seconds the man had disappeared back into the gloom of the alley. And just like that, Barack Obama was alone with too many questions, most being about his own sanity.

When he left the alley and continued down the road, he found the White House again, just around the next bend. From there he snuck back around to the west wing, and slipped through that old, shitty door back into the warmth and relative comfort of familiarity. He took off his hat, scarf, and coat, and put them away along with his shoes.

He then tiptoed back into bed with Michelle and laid down. He couldn’t stop thinking about the enormously stereotypical vampire he’d encountered last night, or whether there might be something wrong with him. That had to have been fake, right? He had a transylvanian accent, and despite how the lisp was a little weird, he even looked the part with slick black hair and a pallid complexion.


End file.
